


Of Love And Avarice

by ShadowOfHapiness



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abusive Bilbo, Abusive Relationships, Angst, Comatose Fili, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Not Happy, Prompt Fill, Victim Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowOfHapiness/pseuds/ShadowOfHapiness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Battle now over, Thorin had wanted to mend things with Bilbo, for he had grown to care for the little Hobbit. However, when the kind-hearted Hafling's behavior towards him abruptly dwindles, he can only comply and accept it. After all, he deserved it all, didn't he?<br/>Love makes even the strongest of spirits wilter, and for Thorin, loving Bilbo becomes something akin to shattered glass, sharp and painful, yet at the same time too beautiful to turn away.<br/>(Fill for this prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/14338.html?thread=25878274 )</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Everything Will Be All Right

Pain.

Pain was the only thing his brain could register right now, as each ragged breath he managed to take in seemed to burn his throat and set his insides on fire. He’d thought that he’d already been through the worst when Azog’s blade had pierced his armor, that the burning agony that had come along with the feeling of steel burying itself deeper and deeper into his flesh had been without a doubt the worst thing he’d ever had to endure. It turned out he was wrong.

Now, he could actually feel the cold beneath him seep into his body, could almost feel the wound in his side bleed out, could feel Death creeping up on him, slowly but surely, as if She was well intent on letting him suffer as much as possible so that when the final moment came at last, he’d see it as mercy and would accept being whisked off in her black arms forever. It hurt, and if Thorin could have, he would have thrown a thousand curses at Fate and her cruel and twisted games, but he couldn’t bring himself to, he couldn’t do anything more than accept what was happening –accept that he was undoubtedly _dying_ \- because he deserved no less, after all. Who was he, to be allowed to live when his greed and selfishness had cost the lives of so many? Thousands had died today, because he had refused to part with a miserly part of his family’s heirloom. Fili, his own _blood_ , had died because he’d been too blind with revenge to think clearly and had preferred sending his closest kin to their doom rather than reconsider and stay his hand for today. He’d as good as killed the blond himself, if he were honest, and the realization had Thorin’s guts twisting uncomfortably, knowing that even now, even on the verge of Death, he was not going to be allowed a moment of freedom, a moment to appreciate solace and peace. No, he could picture it all, each mistake, each wrong move, glaring back at him, reminding him of what a poor King he was, what a disgrace he must be towards his Father and Grandfather. No amount of self-loathing would ever make him redeemable in their eyes, and Thorin almost expected them to disown him as soon as he set foot in Mahal’s Halls and was reunited with them, being shunned by his deceased family was what he deserved, after all.

At least Kili was probably still alive. It wasn’t much of a consolation, but Thorin felt a small ounce of relief knowing that the Defiler had not succeeded in wiping out his entire line. His younger sister-son might not have heard or cared to see to his voice when he’d anxiously called out to him earlier, after his brother’s death, but the small flicker of hope that still endured, that small part of him that clung to the belief that Kili was –had to be- still alive made the fact that he was dying almost a little easier to bear. Durin’s house would still stand, even after he was gone.

Kili still had a whole life ahead of him, and, if Thorin had been allowed to live on, he would have come to terms that his younger nephew had fallen for an elf. He might not be the warmest to the creatures of the woodland realm, but Thorin knew he had never quite been able to deny Kili anything, and were he to bring home an elven maiden, he didn’t think he’d be able to refuse in the long run. After all, Kili was young, didn’t he deserve happiness even if finding such a treasure was to be with a pointy-eared warrior, especially after what he’d put him and the rest of his companions through? Aye, maybe some might have called him out on his indulgent nature towards his youngest, but Thorin wasn’t one to care about how outsiders might disagree with the way he raised his sister-sons. They had always been an essential part to Thorin’s small world of joy, them and his dear Sister, as he’d never really been a very open enough person to include anyone else in his sphere of joy. However, the Quest had changed that. Before setting out from Ered Luin with his twelve companions, Thorin wouldn’t have described himself as a very caring person, but after seeing what each and every dwarf he’d brought along with him had been through and willing to do in order to see their adventure through,  he’d come to deeply respect each and every one of them.

The other person he’d strangely enough grown attached to was one Bilbo Baggins. A year ago, when laying eyes on the odd little Hobbit for the very first time, he’d never have guessed he’d have come to care so deeply for him, and yet, as Fate would have it, he had. Thorin knew he’d remained quite quiet, he’d never truly told Mister Baggins how he felt about him, but both of them had grown closer along the way, and neither of them would wish for what they had once had to be lost forever, which seemed to very well be the case, if the warmth he could feel flowing down his side was indeed blood. There was no way that Oin would be able to make it up here to save him in time, there was no way anyone would find him, for that matter. Fili was dead, Bilbo, he did not know what had become of him after he’d stormed the tower, Kili he had last seen charging head first into the pack of orcs right above him and Dwalin, Dwalin had tried to call him back but he had not listened… And now he was going to pay the price for his stubbornness with his life.

Often, he’d prided himself in being a head strong dwarf, it had been a quality many recognized among his kin, but taking into account some of his more recent actions, Gandalf’s words, _“Your pride will be your downfall”,_ seemed to make so much more sense to him all of a sudden. Thorin regretted his conduct, especially now that, alone as he was, he could not ask a single soul for forgiveness, and were he offered the choice to start anew, he would take it without an ounce of hesitation. Those he had so badly wronged deserved him to make up for it in any way he could.

So engrossed in his treasure had he been, he’d missed out on what he had, he’d left behind his loyal friends, he’d turned on his family and had almost had one of his nephews murder the one person who had come to mean more to him than anything, all because of the cursed Arkenstone, and _Oh!_ How he wished he could take it all back, how he wished he’d not said those words to Bilbo on the rampart, how he wished he had not almost forced Fili to murder the small Hobbit, how he regretted having doubted his loyal company, and above all, he regretted never having had the chance to tell them all how sorry he was for it all. Having the chance to apologize to them was something he longed for, yet something he knew he didn’t deserve, would never be worthy of. Maybe this was his punishment, maybe going on to his Father’s Halls with the knowledge that he’d torn his family apart, dishonored his word and been willing to hurt Bilbo for the sake of treasure and wealth was what he would have to bear, an eternity riddled with guilt and shame. It should have unsettled him, yet it didn’t, for Thorin knew he deserved nothing less.

Still, leaving behind those he cared for, leaving Kili without having a chance to say goodbye and wish him well as new King under the Mountain, leaving Fili to the crows where he must still be laying with nobody aware of where he had fallen, leaving his dear friends Balin and Dwalin the responsibility to inform his sister Dis of how his grand quest had taken a turn for the worst, leaving Bilbo with whom he’d hoped to start anew after the battle to pick up the shattered pieces, leaving all of them behind, it hardly seemed like Fate was being fair to him, and not for the first time did Thorin both question and curse the decisions made by those above him, those Gods who seemed to do as they wished with their mortal lives as if it were just a game, with little regards to the will of the pawns they used for their own entertainment.

In an act of defiance, well intent on showing them he was not ready to go down just yet, Thorin tried to move, at least lean upwards slightly, hoping he might not be alone up here, on this gigantic frozen plateau. Not for the first time did he regret separating from the rest of his company, as now the weight of his solitude came crashing down on him, awareness that nobody would be here to ease his passing finally dawning on him. He coughed, red specks of blood coming up as he hacked, once again reminding him of his impending doom, reminding him that once more, he’d failed so many in Death just like he had in life. How was he ever going to be able to repay Bilbo if he died? How was he going to be able to help his Sister bear the grief of her lost sons if he was not there to support her through the long journey commonly known as grief? How would he do right by the many he’d wronged if he were to die this day?

With those thoughts in mind, Thorin found a small spark inside of him lighting up again. While he undoubtedly deserved death, he did not want to die, not when there were still so many he owed apologies to, not when he had managed to start building something new with Bilbo, something they could both share together if he could hold on _just_ a little longer. Didn’t he owe Bilbo that at least? After everything the Hobbit had done for him, did the small Hafling not deserve him to fight for him now too? Didn’t the company not deserve to have him at least apologize for his conduct and have him live to make it up to them? Aye, dying now would be selfish, it would be nothing less than escaping what he was due without making amends, and Thorin really did not wish to part from his friends without first having the opportunity to say how sorry he was and that he had not meant any of this to befall them when he had accepted them as worthy members of the Company when they’d first set out from Ered Luin, about a year ago now.

Bilbo, however, he knew deserved more than that. While Thorin cared about the well-being of his company as a whole, Bilbo he knew was the person he would particularly have to make up to. They had trusted each other, the two had come a long way from the small Hobbit hole in which they had met, and Thorin knew he had broken a part of what they had had when he’d tried to have the small burglar thrown of the ramparts after he’d doubted him and the others. Bilbo couldn’t have taken such an offense easily, and Thorin would count himself extremely lucky if he, or any other member of the company for that matter, ever found it in himself to forgive him, for he deserved no such mercy, of that he was sure.

The slight pain in his chest was his only warning before he coughed again, and the coppery taste of blood left an acrid taste in his mouth as he heaved what he could, just another reminder that he was going to die, alone up here, isolated from those he cared about. Had he possessed the strength, Thorin might have wiped whatever specks had managed to fall on his chin, but as it was, he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He was dying, what was the point in trying to do anything to stop it? The pain in his side was a constant reminder of what awaited him, of the inevitability of his situation, and while a part of him screamed at how unfair it was, at how it shouldn’t be him who was losing everything after barely having the chance to bask in his newly-reclaimed homeland, after everything he had done to ensure Erebor was once again in dwarven hands, but defying Fate was never something one did, and right now, as hard as it was for a dwarf as stubborn as he to accept, Death was slowly creeping up on him, and he ought to give in to acceptance sooner rather than later, it would make it easier in the end anyway. Refusing it was only prolonging his torture, so why bother?

_You owe it to him, to all of them._

Apologies. Right. Thorin screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the pain, for if he could not feel it, maybe he could bring himself to believe that this was not the end for him, maybe there was still a tiny chance for a soul as irredeemable as his to find a second chance. Looking up, he could almost bask in this idea that everything was fine, that instead of a battle raging beneath him, it was just another winter in Ered Luin, that when he came home that night, Dis would be waiting for him with Kili and Fili, who would eagerly tell him about what they’d learnt from Balin and the countless books of knowledge he shared with them. Closing his eyes, he could see her smile, her soft lips curve up in her quiet greeting, before she would return to the kitchen to watch over their meal as he would take off a soggy coat and collapse in the first chair available. Were the opportunity given to him, he would probably then light up his pipe in the hopes of a quick smoke to let off all the tension of the day before his two nephews would come barreling in, Kili seeking to sit on his lap and Fili, a little more reserved, would ask how his day had went.

Thorin almost smiled, but his attempt was cut short when a sharp pain ripped through his side when Kili would take hold of his tunic a little too tightly, throwing him back into the cold and brutal reality and whatever warm hearth Dis had sat him down beside was gone, the cold of the ice below freezing him to the bone as it seeped in maliciously through his clothes, his exhausted body unable to fight it any longer.

A part of him desperately wanted to give in, it would be so much easier after all, and it would cause him less pain in the long run, but even as he closed his eyes, Thorin felt his hand clench, his body, while needing rest, was unwilling to comply to the relief his mind was leading it towards, and so the dwarf found himself pulled between life and death, wishing for the latter yet bitter at the thought of everything he would be leaving behind forever if he just gave in and closed his tired eyes, knowing that were he to do so, there was a big chance he would never open them again.

It would be so easy though, to just let go, nothing would matter anymore, not him, not the crown, not the damned Arkenstone, nothing at all.

Thorin thought he could hear a faint noise to his right, small like the sound of a scurrying squirrel scampering off after realizing it had been seen, and for a moment he wondered what sort of small creature would possibly be able to make it’s way up here when, out of the corner of his eye, he could make out a curly mop of brown hair. That was no squirrel-

“Bilbo!” He choked out, coughing up more blood as his body fought the exertion he’d put it under, but Thorin couldn’t bring himself to care. Of all the people he’d known, the one person he would wish to spend his last moments with had come for him, and while he was deserving of no such gift, he wasn’t about to turn the Hafling away.

Weakly, he reached out a shaking arm in an attempt to take hold of the other’s blue robe, grab onto something that might anchor him to reality for a few moments longer, just the time to let Bilbo know how sorry he was and take that burden off his chest at least.

He did not see the other’s worried face, he did not see Master Baggins' eyes roam over his body in an attempt to take in the damage, he did not see his shaking hands hover over the wound in his chest, all he saw was that someone was there for him, and Thorin wasn’t about to turn that away.

“Bilbo!” He wanted to say something else, Mahal knew he had so many things he wanted to tell the Hafling ranging from a full-hearted apology to admitting how deeply he cared for him, but as he opened his mouth, nothing came out, and words seemed so futile all of a sudden, when it came to expressing how dearly he’d come to value the younger.

“Shh, don’t move. Lie still.” He could feel the other’s shaking hands fumble with the front of his tunic, no doubt in an attempt to try and stop the blood flow, but one look at the ugly wound was enough to have him turning his head away in disgust. Thorin couldn’t fault him however, the gruesome reality that came along with battles was never something Hobbit had (or should have had to, for that matter) endured, and poor Bilbo seemed quite at a loss of what he ought to do. Several times, his hands went through a back-and-forward movement, hovering above his injury in question, yet each time the Hobbit had been about to put his hands down, he retracted them at the last moment, as if he just couldn’t bring himself to come into contact with the blood.

 _Leave it, don’t worry about it._ The words were on the tip of his tongue, he didn’t want to cause Bilbo more anguish than he was already going through, but when his mouth tried to curve around the sound of the first word, Thorin couldn’t bring himself to voice it out because it would just bring such a finality to their situation. He knew he was dying, that he would not wake up tomorrow to bask in his newly-reclaimed homeland, and yet having the small Hobbit here beside him made him long for nothing more than that, just to have the chance to spend a day _–one day-_ in his company where all would be well.

“I’m sorry-” He rasped out, a sharp intake of breath sending a spark of pain shooting up his side, and he winced, Bilbo’s hands keeping him down. One would probably tell him to keep his words, to save his breath for as long as he could, but Thorin didn’t care. He had this one chance to apologize to someone, and while in no way would it make up for what he had done, at least parting with the world would be easier knowing he’d taken a small step towards forgiveness.

“No, no don’t say anything. You’ll be fine.” Bilbo cut him off, rummaging through his pocket in search of his blasted hanckerchief. He knew he was no Oin, and far was it for him to claim to have an extensive medical knowledge, but he would be damned if he did nothing. Ushering Thorin to save his breath –for he was _not_ about to let him die, not if he had a say in the matter- the Hobbit took out his family trinket with trembling fingers, fumbling with the fabric several times before putting it over the wound in an attempt for it to soak up whatever blood was there, squeezing his eyes shut when Thorin inhaled sharply. He did not mean to put him through so much pain, but there was no helping it. If he did nothing, then the other would die, and Bilbo would be damned if he let the dwarf king die so soon after they had just started something together.

“I’m glad you are here.” Stubborn as he was, Thorin wasn’t about to let his appreciation for the fact that the Hobbit was here go unnoticed, Bilbo deserved to know how much he valued his presence, even if this were to be the last time he would see him. Truly, come to think of it, there was probably not another soul he would rather have spent his last moments with, if Thorin were honest. He valued each and every member of his company, of course, there were no dwarves more loyal and more honorable than those twelve he had gotten to know over the course of the last year, but Mister Baggins had always held a special place in him, and while Thorin hated injustice, he knew he would be lying if he were to say that Bilbo didn’t hold any other place than one slightly above all of his companions.

Still, Bilbo tried to keep him quiet (and he now understood Gandalf’s frustration regarding Thorin’s stubbornness a little better) and his hands continued to awkwardly try and stem the blood flow of the dwarf’s wound. It was much uglier-looking now that he could see it up close, and not for the first time did he regret caring so much, as it only made it harder to bear.

“Everything will be fine, Thorin, you’ll see. Just… Lay still –shh.” He didn’t know who he was trying to convince more, himself or the wounded dwarf beneath him, but the words just stumbled out of his mouth without a warning, and so bus was he trying to tend to his friend’s hurt, the Hobbit just didn’t stop his rambling. “There, see?” And he squeezed Thorin’s arm just a little tighter once he’d tied the piece of fabric as tightly as he dared. “Everything will be all right, I’ve got you.”

 _I’ve got you._ Thorin had never been one to let himself be taken care of, let alone another being than a dwarf, but oddly enough, in the haze his eyesight had become, the Hobbit’s voice was oddly comforting, and the hand on his gave him something to hold on to as the pain in his side began to slowly dull down.

Maybe things wouldn’t turn out so badly in the end, he mused, after all, Bilbo was there, Bilbo had told him that everything would be fine in the end, and for once, Thorin let his usual skepticism rest as he indulged in the knowledge that the Hobbit was there for him, here of all places.

Aye, as long as Mister Baggins was there, everything would be fine, and sparing a last glance to the small burglar, trying to muster a would-be encouraging smile for him, Thorin closed his tired eyes, letting himself bask in the security that, whatever happened, the next time he would wake up, Bilbo would be there for him. And everything would be alright.

 


	2. Wide Awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin wakes up to a relieved Hobbit, and Bilbo fills him in on the whereabouts of his two sister-sons.

The gentle throbbing in his stomach was what eventually brought him around once again. Thorin winced at the sharp jolt of pain that ran up his side as he tried to move, but was quickly stopped in his attempt when he realized doing so would probably cause him more harm than good. Instead, he stayed a few moments like that, on his back, and only then realizing that unlike the hard ground upon which he must have lost consciousness earlier, he was now supported by something much softer and more flexible, the cold no longer biting into his skin. Daring to move a little more, he could make out something covering him, something warm and thick _–a blanket? Was this a bed?_

His suspicion was confirmed when moving his hand slightly resulted in him catching part of the sheet, the material a definite indicator that wherever he was, it was no longer on the icy plateau up on Ravenhill where he’d been earlier, and he was most thankful for the change. Sighing in relief, Thorin let his head sink a little further into the fluffy pillow supporting him, relieved now that he was certain he’d made it out alive, and that Azog was dead once and for all, he would never come back to torment either him or his family.

Opening his groggy eyes and blinking several times, he looked around silently, trying to assess where exactly he was and who (if anyone indeed _was_ there) was with him. The dim light of the room took him a while to adjust to, and with his vision still slightly unfocused due to sleep, he couldn’t make out much but with his return to consciousness, Thorin was immediately assaulted with a sense of familiarity with the place, as if he’s always known the walls within which he’d been brought, and the intricate designs running along the wall around the room to his right, lit up by a candle set on the small table left very little doubt as to where he was. This was Erebor. It would seem that somehow, someone had managed to bring him back and settled into one of the old chambers while he’d been out cold.

It still felt a little damp, the occasional crack along the old walls was definitely to blame for that (maybe Bofur might be able fix it someday, as he was indeed quite skilled with tools), sending an occasional shiver up his spine, but Thorin felt he could deal with it, for now, and he tried to move a little deeper under the cover in the hopes that whatever warmth was trapped there, he might be able to make the most of it. He’d finally come around to the conclusion that he was indeed still very much alive, that this wasn’t a dirty trick the gods might be playing on him for their own amusement, and the knowledge of the fact that he was finally _home,_ was finally back in the place in which he’d dreamt of for so many years took whatever weight might have settled on his shoulders off and crumbling it to dust.

After remaining unmoving for the next few minutes, the next thing he became aware of was how dry his throat felt, as the few attempts he made at swallowing what he could proved themselves quite useless, resulting only in a mild burn, which was most uncomfortable.

Water, he needed water. Which was right there, only at arm’s length, when Thorn spotted a small glass, probably only half-full, right next to the candle, Oin’s doing no doubt. _Bless him._ Already savoring the mere thought of having the cold water come into contact with his lips, he stretched his arm out as far as he dared, cursing himself when the small tremors that ran down its length stubbornly refused to subside, and stretched his fingers as far as he could in the hopes they might be able to curl around the small container and bring it back to him. But of course, like most things in life, nothing ever really goes as planned, and Thorin’s arm jerked of it’s own accord only a breath away of it’s prize, his fingers grazing it just enough to unbalance it and send the glass crashing to the floor, the once pristine dwarven craftsmanship now a pile of shards devoid of purpose at the foot of his bed.

The sharp echo of the shattering object was what abruptly brought Bilbo out of whatever slumber he’d managed to fall into while keeping watch at Thorin’s bed, effectively almost jumping out of his seat with the unexpected call to consciousness. The Hobbit looked around wildly, as if he were expecting some orc or goblin to prance upon him in the dark, and it took him a few moments to actually realize that there was no real danger threatening him. Actually, there wasn’t any trace of an orc in sight, and the sharp noise that had cut through his peaceful doze was none other than the small glass of water that had been rested upon the bedside table.

The small glass Thorin had been trying to reach, if the outstretched hand and the wide blue eyes, looking down at the loss of the precious drink, were any indication.

“Oh, _oh!_ Don’t move! I’ll be right back!” Bilbo managed to blurt out, before scurrying off in search of another glass wherever one might be, surely Erebor would not be devoid of such commonly-used dishes among all of the treasury which still lay in one of the grand rooms, would it?

Thorin barely had a moment to understand what was going on that the tan fur lining the bottom of the little Hobbit’s dressing gown disappeared out the corner, leaving him by himself. So Bilbo had come to see him while he’d been out cold? To anyone else, it may not have seemed like much, but to him, knowing that he hadn’t been left alone, even in his state of unconsciousness, it meant a lot, and Thorin smiled wryly as he sunk back into the bed, patiently waiting for the small Hafling to return.

It barely took Bilbo a few minutes to get back from the kitchen as it seemed that the door to the room opened only mere moments after the younger had left, only this time, he was back carrying a tray with all sorts of food, probably organized with Bombur’s help.

“Here, scoot over a little.” Bilbo chuckled as he settled himself to his left, carefully putting the food down and making sure nothing would spill on the covers, knowing he would rather avoid having to wash up the pristine sheets if he could. The Hobbit then let his hand hover above the food on the tray, several times hesitating between a small cake of one of the few slices of bread before opting for the latter, picking it up and tearing it in half, keeping one for himself and offering the other to Thorin, arguing that “You should eat something after being out for nearly three weeks.”

 _Three weeks?_ Had it really been that long?

Thorin looked down, suddenly not half as hungry as he’d thought he was at the knowledge that he’d been out cold and left the rest of the company to deal with the fallout of the war for three weeks. They never should have had to go through all the hassle and politics, that should have been his job while Ori and the others take the time they needed to heal, for he was not about to fool himself into believing that any of them had come out from the battle unscathed.

He set down the piece of nibbled bread, not able to finish it anymore before turning to Bilbo, anxiety already pooling in the pit of his stomach. “Is everyone all right?”

The question was hesitant, and if Thorin were honest, it didn’t even sound like him as he said it, but now facing the fact that he’d sent his company out to battle, some of which were barely of age (Ori came to mind), the mere thought that one of his loyal friends might have died set him on edge, quickly turning what was supposed to be a calm and peaceful return to consciousness into a dreaded confrontation with the result of his actions.

He knew he had only himself to blame, after all, the he was the one who had openly declared war on the Men of the Lake and the Elves of the Woodland Realm, and while Thorin was aware of the fact that he ought to care for the lives that had been lost during the battle, he couldn’t help but prioritize the twelve members of his Company. It wasn’t right, he knew that, as King, he could not play favorites, but he just couldn’t help it. Without Balin’s diplomacy, Bofur’s ever optimistic attitude, Bombur’s cooking skills everything else his companions had offered during the journey, he was certain he probably wouldn’t have gotten very far, and now, having not even the slightest hint as to whether they were all right or not, knowing all too well how more than one of them could have met an early end at the hands of their enemies without him being having done anything to stop it, all this was almost making him wish he had not woken up just yet. He’d caused them enough harm as it was, knowledge of an even worse fate befalling them when they did not deserve it in the slightest had him anxiously waiting for Bilbo to answer (with, hopefully, at least something good).

The Hobbit fumbled with his hands, not daring to look up at him, and for a moment, Thorin feared the worst, that he’d finally managed to reclaim his homeland but at the cost of his Company, which was a thought he couldn’t even bare to process. He’d sooner leave his ancestor’s home than live within walls he’d gotten back into dwarven hands with the blood of his friends. Complete silence fell in the room, the two of them surrounded by such an aura of quietness that Thorin was certain Bilbo would have been able hear his hammering heart even if he were a mile away which only increased tenfold as each second stretched on for a tortuously long amount of time. The Hobbit biting his lip, as if he were hesitant to give him the answer was all he needed to see for him to know that everything was not all right –of course it couldn’t be, his companions had just suffered though a _war_ for Mahal’s sake!- and each second that rolled by had him increasing the number of casualties he must have caused. Where a dead Ori, still so young and once full of hope and dreams, was the first one he’d pictured, now he was joined with old Balin and ever-optimistic Bofur, the three of the staring up at the sky, eyes wide open but no longer seeing, and the mere sight of them had a long tendril of guilt twisting itself incredibly tightly in his stomach, making him nauseous.

It was almost a relief when Bilbo opened his mouth to answer, as he leaned over to pick up one of the pieces of toast from the tray he’d brought along with him.

“Everybody’s alive, if that’s what you’re asking.” He said between two mouthfuls and compliments to their dwarven cook, careful to not let the melting butter drip onto the bedcovers, Mahal knew whoever was on cleaning duty would make a fuss if they found left-overs between the sheets, and Bilbo really didn’t want to upset anyone being so early into his (hopefully long) stay in Erebor. “Oin has been beating everyone on the head and giving admonishments about recklessness and thoughtless injuries for days now, even Bofur and Ori have taken to hiding whenever he does his rounds!” The Hobbit chuckled, leaning back slightly before continuing. “Balin’s been looking over any political fallouts and has supervised the payment we owe the men of the Lake and Thranduil alongside Gloin. We know you should have given the order, but as you weren’t waking up, we thought it would be in everyone’s best interest to proceed with what you’d initially promised them…” Bilbo trailed off, not too sure if he ought to feel guilty for acting behind Thorin’s back or not, having upheld the dwarf’s word while he could not but it just seemed like the right thing to do, especially if he was set to finally settle down here.

Thorin just nodded, knowing no words or apologies he might come up with would erase the fact that he’d dishonored his word. He was glad for Bilbo and Blain’s handling of the situation, knowing that being so early into it’s restoration, Erebor was in dire need of any allies it could find (even if said allies weren’t of dwarven culture), and besides, he’d given his word to Bard, and as the man had already offered them refuge in Lake-Town when they’d needed it, and had even extended his hospitality to Kili and those he’d left behind (from what he’d heard), it was only fair that he repay the human the services and help he’d offered them.

“Well…” Bilbo went for another slice of toast, eager to turn away from the still-tetchy subject, knowing he would rather not invoke Thorin’s wrath so early after his return to consciousness, he’d rather deal with that when Oin would come around thank you very much. “If it’s any consolation, our healer has been particularly careful with Kili.” He commented smiling at the memory of seeing the old healer be so gentle around the younger dwarf, which was unlike the usually gruff behavior of their healer while they’d been on the Quest.

“Kili’s all right?” The mere mention of his nephew had him trying to ease himself up slightly again. He hadn’t seen Kili since after he’d called out for him after his brother’s fall, and while he’d not let it become a priority, the fact that he knew not what had become of him had been worrying him ever since. The sudden news that his younger sister-son was all right seemed to suddenly take a massive weight of his chest, and breathing became somewhat much easier all of a sudden.

“Can I see him?” Thorin asked, already leaning forward, eager to make sure nothing had happened to his nephew while he’d been unable to help him. Leaving Kili behind in Lake-Town without having taken the opportunity to explain to him why exactly he couldn’t bring his injured nephew into the dragon’s lair had been gnawing away at him, and while he’d tentatively made it up to Kili after shaking off the Dragon Sickness, he knew he owed his nephew a lot more than a simple forehead touch.

Already, his hand inched towards the cover at his side, eager to shake it off and push him up so he might be able to leave the room, call out for Kili if need be, just anything for him to actually see for himself that his nephew was all right. Bilbo’s hand on his chest though, stopped him in his attempt, and while Thorin wanted to resist, wanted to heave himself out of the bed of he had to, going against the Hobbit’s wishes just felt wrong right then. Instead, he leant back once more, hoping Mister Baggins might call Kili in instead. Yes, surely that might be better than him straining his injured leg, wouldn’t it? After all, Oin had enough patients to see throughout his daily rounds, there was no need to add to that when a little patience was all that was needed.

However, unlike what he’d expected the little Hafling to do, Bilbo did not call for Kili, nor did he call for Oin to come and explain to him how his younger sister-son might still be healing and needed his rest. In fact, Bilbo made no move to even go and fetch Kili for him at all, and for the second time that day, Thorin felt the small tendrils of anxiety coil around him again, only tighter this time, as if something was looming over him, something he ought to dread but was unable to explain was just a few feet over him yet he knew not what it was. He felt himself grip the bed sheet tighter, looking at Bilbo directly in the eye, almost pleading for him to let him see Kili. At least let him know for himself that the boy was all right, he was the lad’s uncle after all, did he not have that right?

“Bilbo?” When the Hobbit’s silence continued, Thorin felt compelled to ask. He had to know that Kili was all right, it was simply something he had to have knowledge of. He would never forgive himself should harm have befallen the last person he’d ever wish to put through harm’s way, and hadn’t Kili been hurt enough on this Quest already? “ _Please_ Bilbo, tell me he’s all right.” The voice sounded foreign, as if it weren’t him speaking, the only indication Thorin had that those words had been uttered by him was how his lip kept trembling, even after he’d asked the Hobbit the dreaded question, that and the way his hand shook, where it had latched itself in a white-knuckled grip onto the younger’s sleeve.

“Kili’s gone.”

Two simple words, two words Bilbo couldn’t even say to his face, as the Hobbit only stared numbly at the wall behind him as his whisper continued to echo around the room, ringing in his ears. _Kili was gone._

The vice-like grip he’d been holding on Bilbo’s blue gown loosened, his limbs going numb as the knowledge of what terrible fate had befallen his second sister-son settled in. _Kili was gone… Kili was dead._ He felt sick.

Kili was the last person who should have died for their homeland. Kili was the one who left full of hopes and dreams, the one for whom he’d taken up the Quest in the first place, in the hopes of offering him and the others a better homeland, a better place to live his life and grow up in the halls of his ancestors. Kili was the last person who should have died for Erebor. And it was all his fault, if he’d just _listened_ to the others, if he’d just _agreed_ to peace, none of this would ever have happened…

Thorin looked back to Bilbo, desperate for him to be wrong, for him to have misinterpreted something, for… Anything. He didn’t think he’d be able to deal with Kili being…

“No,” He managed to choke out, before a trembling hand tentatively took hold of the Hobbit’s sleeve, “Please tell me it’s not true, _please_ Bilbo he can’t-“

“Oh no! No, no, no! It’s nothing like that, there’s really no need to worry.” Bilbo laughed, shaking his head as it finally dawned on him where Thorin’s concern was coming from. “He’s not dead if that’s what you were afraid of!” The Hobbit waved off the other’s concern and worry. No, truly, everything was fine with Kili, his Uncle needn’t worry so much, especially not fall to a heart attack so soon after having regained consciousness, and indeed, Thorin’s puzzled look was quite a comical sight, if the Hobbit were honest, as it was not often that the revered King under the Mountain let other see his concern for his family.

“No, what I mean is, he simply left.” Bilbo supplied quietly, after Thorin had calmed down a little, now knowing that he needn’t fear for Kili’s life anymore.

“What?” The gut-clenching feeling he’d been freed of moments ago returned with a force, as Thorin couldn’t understand what the Hobbit meant. Kili wasn’t dead, which was a relief of course, then why wasn’t he here? He had the sudden feeling he shouldn’t want to know more, but as curiosity killed the cat, he couldn’t help but ask all the same. “What do you mean by “he simply left”?

If Bilbo noticed his white knuckles clenching the bed sheet, he certainly didn’t say anything about it.

“Well, as I said, he left… With the elf maiden. He said they were meant to be together and he felt the need to leave Erebor behind, to “see the world” as he put it.” Bilbo explained, patiently. “He didn’t say when he’d come back, but he’ll surely drop in shortly, don’t worry.” The Hobbit squeezed his shoulder slightly, and while Thorin appreciated the attempt of comfort, it didn’t change the fact that Kili was gone, and he wasn’t going to be able to apologize to him. He’d just have to wait for his sister-son to come back, which would hopefully be shortly.

“And Fili?” He dared to ask, after a while, not knowing whether he wanted to know the answer or not. What if he had left with Kili and the elf maiden too? No, surely Fili wouldn’t leave, not when he had a duty to the Crown more important than his brother, Fili _couldn’t_ have left.

“Fili is…” Bilbo started, but was unsure of how he could break the news gently. Oin had been trying, he’d even enlisted the help of several healers from the Iron Hills, but despite the effort put in on both parts for the past three weeks, nothing seemed to work. Fili wasn’t dead, but…”He’s not waking. The healers are doing what they can though, so you shouldn’t worry, but he’s just unresponsive, for now.” The Hobbit supplied, as he sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the small tray of food on the small stand next to them in order to make space for himself.

“He’ll be all right though, won’t he?” Thorin asked, still a little unsure. That Fili was alive meant more to him than Bilbo could ever imagine, especially since he’d feared the blond had died as soon as Azog had let go of him, but now knowing he was back home, and that Oin was doing what he could, it maybe wasn’t perfect, but it was a good start.

“’Course he will, silly!” Bilbo chuckled, ruffling the other’s hair before nudging him slightly in the side, careful as to avoid the still-healing wound though. “Hey, scoot over a little, so I might be able to slip in for a while.”

Thorin obliged, careful not to jostle the dressings Oin must have put on him earlier, making room for Bilbo to slip in next to him. It felt calming, finally having someone next to him, someone he could finally lean on and let them support him for a while instead of having to constantly doing it himself, for while it may not appear like much to an exterior eye, it did feel quite taxing eventually, and merely being propped up had started to take toll on his back, thank Mahal for Bilbo’s suggestion.

The small plate of toast lay forgotten when the Hobbit curled around him, Thorin having not realized until now how much he’d missed this, just the two of them being together.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, feeling compelled to say it. He knew Bilbo could have left him, and quite frankly, a part of him still felt undeserving of the Hobbit’s affections, but the fact that Mister Baggins had still decided to stay, that he was still here with him when he could be heading back home to Bag End if he so wished, it made Thorin realize to what extent he truly was a lucky person, and he wasn’t about to make Bilbo think his kind gesture went unappreciated.

“Thank you.” It wasn’t much, and truthfully, if he weren’t so tired, Thorin would have probably said more, but right now, simply having Mister Baggins beside him was enough, as he felt the Hafling curl around him and lean his head on his chest, no doubt exhausted after a long day.

“My little Arkenstone.” Had there not been silence in the room, Thorin wouldn’t have heard it as Bilbo had barely breathed it out, but the words had not gone unnoticed, and for a moment, he froze, carefully trying to avoid disrupting the Hobbit to his left. Bilbo didn’t seem to notice his discomfort however, as the younger merely snuggled into him a little more, and soon, he thought he could make out soft snores coming from the others.

Thorin tried to join him in his sleep, knowing that Oin would probably wish him to rest as much as he could, but each time he closed his eyes, Bilbo’s words would keep him awake for some reason, and their echo sent an occasional shiver running down his spine. The new King under the Mountain shook his head eventually, knowing he was just being too sensitive about it, and that Bilbo really didn’t mean any harm, not if the kindness he’d shown towards him was any indicator. Besides, they could surely talk about it next time Bilbo woke up.

Instead, while sleep still persisted to evade him, Thorin contended himself with running his fingers through the Hobbit’s curly locks, once again thanking his stars the Hafling could still find it in himself to want him by his side and that wherever Mahal may be, he indeed hoped the great spirit had blessed the kind soul that was Bilbo Baggins, for he truly deserved the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a little while, sorry. University has just been exhausting lately and my two younger brothers already on their holidays and kindly reminding me of the fact every day while I had an extra week to “endure”, it just seemed like an impossible five days to go through :p But I’m off now, and me being the social angsty telephone-phobe teen that I am (yes, I’m terrified of making phone calls, it’s really stupid, but true), rather than spending an afternoon out with people I’d settle for three days-straight listening to music and writing any day ^^
> 
> Regarding this chapter: in the original prompt, the anon offered a bonus point for killing Kili and Fili off, but for some reason, I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I’m keeping them but having them unable to interfere with the story, as it will only cause Thorin more anguish knowing Kili leaves him willingly (which makes sense in movie!verse as he shows more than once how little his family means to him) and Fili is in reaching distance but cannot interact with Thorin and thus, he cannot apologize for how he treated him on the quest. (I’m a big meanie, sorry but I can’t help it, it’s angst-fest galore, yippee! ^^)


	3. My Little Arkenstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin wakes up, and Bilbo fills him in on what happened while he was out cold. And finds a new pet name for him.

He didn’t know at what time exactly consciousness evaded him, but it seemed his body had indeed given in to sleep once again, for when Thorin cracked his eye open the next time, the deepening orange of the sky outside the window and the few pale stars he could see scattered among the firmament let him know that night was settling itself in, and that he must have spent most of the day asleep, which was understandable, given the fact that he was still supposed to be recovering. Oin had said earlier that his wounds, while no longer life-threatening, were still far from being healed, much to his frustration, and there was little else he could do but remain in bed if he wanted to heal. And Thorin having already experienced the consequences of what refusing to abide to the apothecary’s orders entailed, he knew better than to argue with his body when it kept crying out for sleep and a chance to heal itself. He’d been rather reluctant to let consciousness slide through his fingers after having only just regained it after three weeks of being out cold, but knowledge that he was safe and that Bilbo had said he still wished to be with him quickly chased away any doubts or lingering trepidations he might have had, and he hadn’t even realized he’d fallen asleep once again until his eyes fluttered open to the grand granite ceiling of his new chamber, the one King Thròr had owned in a life long ago.

The realization that this was somewhere he’d felt familiar with in another life, that he was finally back in a home he’d dreamt of claiming back and offering to all dwarves doomed to roam throughout Middle-Earth until they either settled down or died of old age, had Thorin stopping in his haste to shake his body awake, for in addition to being unnecessary, it had more chances of undoing Oin’s hard work than helping his body heal, and the longer he took to heal, the longer he would be confined to the bed in his chambers. Today was not a day where he was needed on the battlefield, today was not a day where he need worry about finding shelter to the mass of dwarves that saw in him a leader, today was not a day his soul needed to fret over the fate of others, just or today, for once, he could at long last take a moment to recover himself, and tend to his own body’s needs before seeing to any crown duties (for he would be bound to take them eventually), and now that the need to see to his people was not so urgent as it might have been some time ago, Thorin felt reluctant to leave the small bubble of peace he was still wrapped in, that strange place where the body is no longer asleep, but not yet awake enough to be deemed conscious.

It is in fact strangely peaceful he realized, that short moment when you first regain some form of awareness, enough to vaguely make out your surroundings but not yet reaching the point where you can form a coherent thought, and for a moment, the new King under the Mountain was granted the small blissful feeling of having nothing else matter other than what he could see outside. The purple and orange hues, occasionally crossed by a flash of black as a lone raven would dart across the sky, were all his eyes could see, and thus were the only things his brain was made to process in those first seconds of awareness, and just leaning back and reveling in the fact that he was now able to take pleasure in such simple things had him exhale a contented smile. Maybe now that Erebor had been reclaimed, he might have the chance to revel in such little indulgences more often.

The slump in his shoulders felt like something completely foreign, for it was not an act he had indulged in in a long, long time, and while letting himself go, renouncing to a small part of control he’d constantly been keeping over his body is what Thorin would have liked to have been able to do, as soon as the tension left his shoulders and the soft support behind him engulfed his back, he couldn’t help but relinquish his hold. It was just for a few minutes, no harm would come from that, right? No, he realized, as breathing became the only thing he was then required to do, and with worries for now at bay, it was a real mercy. He would be up eventually, but for now, maybe just for once, it was all right to see to something _he_ wanted, and not something he was duty-bound to do, Mahal knew it had been so long since he’d allowed himself to see to any of his remote little desires. And right now, just lying back and relishing in the fact that he was still alive was more than enough.

It was odd, that the urge to actually _do_ something did not make itself known to his body. Oh, that did not mean that Thorin was content with the fact that he was to be confined to his chambers for another long while at least (or so he guessed, Oin was definitely not going to let him move about anytime soon, he wasn’t about to fool himself into believing anything else) , but the fact that the urge to get out of the bed and start wandering around the remains of his forefathers’ kingdom and maybe even start seeing to its reconstruction was kept at bay for now was a definite relief, for Thorin didn’t know if he would have been able to abide to the healer’s orders had the urge come over him, not matter how sensible the command might have been.

Instead, for once in his life, Thorin realized that maybe not being in control of every minute detail wasn’t so bad. Mahal knew he’d always been terrible at letting others be in charge or simply listening to what they had to say, even more so when he’d been so desperately locked away in Thror’s gold chamber counting his heirloom’s wealth (he shuddered, as the poisonous words he’d said to Dwalin came back to haunt the back of his mind, monstrosities such as _“Life is cheap”_ and _“Go, get out, before I kill you”_ , words he knew he ought to never have been able to utter to one of his most trusted friends in the first place, yet he could still feel his mouth curving around their damning sounds), and the scarring memories of what he had done when trying to control the Mountain’s wealth was something Thorin knew he would never be able to forget or forgive himself for. If anything, the whole episode in the chamber had taught him that it was probably a necessity for him to relinquish the tight reins of control he’d felt the need to exercise over his own life, and, unfortunately, the life of many others around him too. And as the saying went, that _there’s no time like the present_ to actually _do_ something about it, today might be a good day to start with something easy and simple, just try to not force himself to see to things others could (and would maybe want to) do.

Yes, that was a good place to begin, and maybe a way he might make it up to his companions at the same time, for he knew he owed them all an apology. Bilbo had told him earlier that they had all made it out of the battle alive, and while his heart was glad that such was the outcome for them, Thorin knew he had an obligation to them which went beyond an “I’m sorry, can we put all that behind us now?”, and he was well intent on making sure that they not only recovered from their injuries but also were given the share of treasure they were due from the moment they had signed the contract. It was only fair he hold to his word, after all.

Decision made, and feeling a little more invigorated knowing he was doing the right thing (or, what _he_ felt was the right thing to do, at least), Thorin reluctantly rose from the small cushion that had been supporting his head and carefully leaned forward, particularly mindful to try and keep the bandages from moving about too much, for he did not wish to have Oin’s precise handiwork fall to the sheets so quickly when the older dwarf must have spent a painstakingly long time putting them on. It took him a little while to work around trying to find a sitting position, but at long last, the new King under the Mountain found himself leaning back against the cushions at the head of the bead, the rays of the setting sun filtering through one of the carved out openings in the side of the chamber and casting it’s golden aura over most of what it touched (Thorin might not have realized it yet, but he’d soon enough come to loathe it, the rich sunbeams trapping him in the prison of his own mind and cursing him to be forever trapped in the one thing he’d come to fear above all else), and as Thorin cast a quick cursory glance around the chamber, his eyes snapped to his left, where something had suddenly taken hold of his arm.

“You’re not trying to run away from me, are you?” Came Bilbo’s sleepy voice, the Hobbit looking up at him from behind his messy hair, the dark circles under his eyes betraying the fact that the poor Halfling mustn’t have had a decent doze in some time. Thorin didn’t know whether to feel grateful for the fact that he hadn’t left his side or guilty because of the sleep he’d so obviously deprived him of, but as Bilbo’s face lit up as it broke out into a grin, Thorin couldn’t help but answer back with a mirroring expression, and push the tendrils of remorse aside for now, because Bilbo was far more important than his petty feelings of self-loathing, he wasn’t about to waste this second chance he’d been given wallowing in self-pity and regret when the small little Hobbit was still offering him a second chance to be with him again.

“No, no of course not.” He shook his head, hand coming to rest on Bilbo’s blue dressing gown’s sleeve, as if the small action would make the Hobbit understand that if anything, Thorin wanted him to stay (and, he hoped, for a very long time too). “I-I was just… A little hungry?” He offered, not really knowing why exactly he felt the sudden need to justify himself, it just simply felt wrong not to do so, he owed Bilbo an explanation at least.

The younger’s eyes widened in understanding, and as quick as he’d been to reach for his sleeve, he shot up from the bed, sauntering off to the door without a word and leaving Thorin slightly dumbfounded where he sat. He’d been half way through the door when he eventually decided to turn back to him, hand on the handle, and a quick and cheerful “Stay right here, I’ll be back with something!”, and then he was gone. Thorin could swear Bilbo had added a _“don’t move!”_ from the hallway, but couldn’t be entirely sure, and settled for it being something his mind had come up with and not something the Hobbit had said.

Bilbo had barely been gone for a minute when the door creaked open again, and Thorin looked up from where he’d been tracing the intricate designs of the bedcover with his eyes, wondering what on earth the Burglar could have forgotten –he couldn’t possibly have gone to the kitchen and back in such a short space of time could he? He knew the younger was remarkably stealthy and had a lot more potential than one would give him credit for at first glance, but this? It was stretching it a bit far-

But it wasn’t Bilbo who was standing in the doorway, unsure of whether he was welcome to take the next step in to his room.

It was Balin.

It only then dawned on Thorin that while he’d asked after the company to Bilbo, he had yet to see them for himself that they were all right, and getting a first glance at his old mentor, quickly assessing that the injuries didn’t seem to go beyond a few bruises and the sling around his left arm took off a weight from his chest he hadn’t even known was there to begin with, and without wasting another second, he quickly invited the older dwarf to take the chair Bilbo had vacated only minutes ago.

“How is everyone?” He inquired, before Balin might ask after himself. He knew he had no right to issue such orders to his friend, not after how little he’d cared for the company while he’d been down in Erebor’s gold chambers, but he couldn’t help it. Besides, Thorin himself was fine, he was healing, he knew he would be all right, but he needed to know how the Company fared. Bilbo had let him in on a few details, such as Kili’s departure (which, while Thorin tried to ignore it, still felt like it was digging a hollow hole in his chest) and Fili’s uncertain state, bit he’d gotten no details of the others from the Hobbit, as Mister Baggins had insisted on staying with him and falling asleep rather than talking.

“Nori’s been giving his brother several streaks of grey hairs –apparently, he still has a few strands that time has spared, it would seem- with all his wandering about, Dori’s become so distraught something might happen to him that Dwalin has taken it upon himself to charge him with playing peacemaker between the Men and the Dwarves from the Iron Hills, as we all know Dain isn’t exactly the best when it comes to keeping his manners. And,” he added, nodding as if he himself were still finding it hard to believe, “He’s doing quite well, from what I’ve heard. Who would have thought, huh? Nori the diplomat… It has a nice ring to it though, doesn’t it?” The older dwarf chuckled, leaning back slightly so as to rest his tired muscles against the chair, a support his limbs were most grateful for.

Thorin joined Balin in his light-heartedness, tittering quietly at the thought of the Company’s thief settling scores between the dwarves and the elves, glad for his friend’s ability to always have him see the bright side of things when he seemed to need it. He knew he didn’t deserve Balin’s kindness, let alone his attempt to make things better for him, but his old mentor’s offer of taking away his worry for their friends was enough for Thorin to sink into the reprieve that all was well, for now at least. Although… Looking up at the elder dwarf’s face, observing the taught skin stretching out as he smiled, it made him long for two other smiles he felt he hadn’t seen in far too long, and the thoughts he’d tried to suppress ever since Bilbo had broken the news to him rose anew.

“What of Kili and Fili? Are they really-?” It was pathetic, really, how he couldn’t even bring himself to finish his own question, but asking it completely felt like too much of a finality to him, and leaving it open meant that Balin could still tell him no, that Bilbo had been wrong or might have mishear something. He hoped so at least, for he had much to make up for when it came to his dear sister-sons, he loved them dearly, and having them ripped away from him after having just succeeded in what they’d set out to do a year ago, when leaving Ered Luin behind them, seemed too unfair for him to consider a possibility. Bilbo wasn’t a liar, and he knew better than to think the Hafling would ever lie to him, but what he’d told him was something Thorin could (or _did_ not want to)simply not accept as a reality. Any minute now the door would burst open, two wild manes of unkempt hair –one brown and one blond- would come rushing to his side and tackle him down to the bed, like they would do when they had been mere dwarflings. Yes, surely that was it, they just wanted to surprise him, they’d probably even talked Bilbo into their shenanigans, make him believe they were dead only to creep up on him and catch him when he least expected it, and Mahal knew Thorin had experienced that feeling of surprise already.

However, the small hint of sadness that Balin tried hard to suppress was still visible to a pair of eyes as sharp as Thorin’s, and the older dwarf needn’t say anymore for the new King under the Mountain to know that what he’d been telling himself had been naught but a lie, a distortion of reality he’d tried to convince himself of because the alterative was too painful for him to accept.

Well, he had little choice but to face the truth now, whether he wanted to or not.

“Kili is _–was_ fine.” Balin corrected himself, starting with the younger nephew as it was the easier option. “Bilbo has probably already told you how he decided to leave with the elven maiden back to the Woodland Realm. He said that while Lord Thranduil had revoked her title as Captain of the Guard for what appears to be an act of disloyalty, he decided to grant her mercy by letting her remain as one of his subjects and allowed her to remain in Mirkwood if she so chose. Kili wanted to go with her, the lad is head-over-heels in love with her, and said it was his duty, as prince of Erebor to cement ties with the elves, that his presence there would help mend the relationship between our two races.” Balin smiled ruefully as he remembered Kili waving goodbye, leaving full of hopes and aspirations, an optimism he wished he could bask in himself but the old dwarf had seen too many horrors to be able to see things in such a positive light. “He said he would write to you and Fili though, so you shouldn’t worry.” And for good measure, he brought his hand up to Thorin’s shoulder, offering the younger dwarf a firm but reassuring support he knew the other probably needed if the slumped frame was anything to go with.

There was a short moment of silence that followed Balin’s words as Thorin took them in, still unable to pinpoint how exactly he felt about the whole situation. He was happy for Kili, of course he was, but at the same time, his nephew’s unannounced departure also hurt, and while wishing to change the past was generally a rather useless desire, Thorin still felt a little upset that his younger sister-son had decided not to come to him about it. He might not have shown his full support for Kili’s infatuation with the elven maiden, but if leaving for the Woodland Realm was what would make his nephew happy, there were probably little arguments he would have made against it. Such was the nature of his relationship with Kili, he had never quite been able to completely refuse the lad, and while many a dwarf had already pointed out that flaw in Thorin’s was of upbringing him, the King under the Mountain had ever really had the heart to change.

“And Fili? Bilbo has told me the healers are trying…” Again, leaving the phrase unfinished in the hoped Balin would be bringer of good news made Thorin feel weak, but he was too tired to care at this point. Besides, if there was one person who would never judge his weakness, it was the old scholar –may Mahal bless his soul.

“What Bilbo said is true, we’re trying, and we’re sure he’ll come around eventually, he just needs time to heal.” Balin conceded, before looking back to him once again, “Which is exactly what you should be doing too.” He added, the light tone of reproach a familiar banter he would use with him in his younger days, lightening the atmosphere in the room, and for a moment, things didn’t seem so bleak to Thorin.

He had wanted to reply, something along the lines of the familiar repertoire of retorts he, Frerin and Dwalin had made up long ago, when life had seemed so easy and fun, but was cut off as the door opened, Bilbo quietly slipping in with a tray.

“I’ll leave you to it.” The older male said, knees cracking as he rose up from where he’d been sitting, before quietly exiting the room and leaving him and Bilbo to their privacy once more.

The Hobbit wasted no time, depositing the tray on the little bedside table before sitting down, Thorin moving over a little in order to leave the Hafling a little room to make himself comfortable.

“I’m guessing Balin filled you in on the Company’s recovery?” He inquired, after taking a bite from the buttered bread in his hand, offering a piece to Thorin, which he declined. Squaring his shoulders and leaning back (for it was a wonderful reprieve to be able to rest when the last few weeks had been spent overseeing Erebor’s reconstruction and his friends’ welfare), Bilbo closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the peace and quiet, before deciding he could fill Thorin in on what was happening, for he had no doubts that the other was still worried about their companions. “Well, the important thing is that they’re recovering, although some of them are likely to carry scars for the rest of their life.” He added quietly, before biting into his warm bread again. “You really had them rough themselves up you know, Nori’s lucky to still have his eyes.”

And there is was again, the inner cord of guilt and shame sneaked back into him again and wrapped itself around his chest, making it hard to breathe. Thorin knew he deserved it, after all, he had been the one to decide the Company’s fate the moment he had chosen to join his cousin on the battlefield, but while it had felt like the right thing to do at the time, he had never really thought the outcome of his decision through, and Bilbo giving him a quick insight as to how the others fared came and destroyed the last shards of comfort he’d been snuggling himself into only a half an hour ago when he’d first woken up. It wasn’t something Thorin wanted to leave behind, and a part of him screamed at how unfair it was for him to be offered something so nice only to have it tarnished with worry and guilt a short time later, but his more reasonable side knew that it was what he was due. It had been his decision to lead the Company out onto the battlefield, and now he had to face the consequences of his actions, like the grown and adult dwarf he was.

Quietly, he nodded, knowing no words would ever justify the life-threatening horror he’d forced his friends to endure (for that was what war was, really, when you stripped away the glory and tales surrounding it), a white-knuckled grip returning to the sheet crumpled at his waist and he bit his lip anxiously at the thought of what they might say to him. He knew anger and loathing from their part were well deserved, but still, having it come from those he’d valued as friends was not something Thorin was looking forward to.

“But’s let not talk about that right now!” Bilbo tried to recover, seeing his words had not had the desired effect on the dwarf. He hadn’t meant to cause him any anguish, only to let him in on the fact that their friends were recovering, and watching the one person he’d been in constant worry over for the past three weeks draw into himself only a short while after having regained consciousness was something he would rather not have, thank you very much.

“I’ve traveled all the way from the Shire, nearly drowned, gotten devoured by a dragon and narrowly missed several blades to be with you, I haven’t risked my life time and time again only to have you close yourself off in your mind again and shut me out!” The Hobbit laughed, his light curls catching the morning sun and glinting on what could be described as an almost golden color, and in that moment, Thorin realized that nothing he could ever hope to own would ever be able to compare to that small gift Bilbo was so freely giving him. Maybe the Hobbit had had a deeper impact on him than he’d initially thought, for while Throin knew he’d grown to care for the younger, he’d never felt this kind of warmth in his chest when looking at him, and right then, the small Hafling was sure to rival even the most intricately carved out dwarven statues decorating the throne room of his forefathers.

“Of course,” Bilbo went on, after settling himself by his side, “Now that we’re together, what do you think we should start off by doing? Repairs? Trade? I may not be all-knowing in matters of politics and commerce, but I’m sure that with a little of Balin’s help, I’ll be able to give a hand here and there. Just to get things started up here again, you know.”

 _You don’t have to…_ Was on the tip of his tongue, but the Hobbit just seemed so excited about having an active part in rebuilding the kingdom, Thorin just couldn’t it himself to refuse him. Besides, he’d been horrible to Bilbo when the incident on the rampart had gone sour, maybe this might be a way from him to make it up to him in a way, let Bilbo do something he wanted to do without interfering.

“If you want to… I’d be glad for a little help.” He nodded, resting his face on top of Bilbo’s head, for even if they were side by side, the Hobbit was still smaller than him. The company was a nice change from the constant solitude he’d sought out since returning from the Battle of Azanulbizar. Thorin knew he’d never really been a very touchy-feely person, and far was it for him to ever openly display affection towards people he cared for (the only exception having been Kili, of course), and now, having a chance to actually let go of that emotionless mask he’d carried around with him for most of his life was a relief. Maybe he wouldn’t be able to rid himself of it completely, as it had after all become an integrant part of himself, but Bilbo definitely made him experience feelings he’d thought long lost to him, and having that small piece of feeling returned to him was a wonderful change from the cold distance he’d erected between himself and the rest of the world.

“Great!” The Hafling exclaimed, glad that he was going to be able to be somewhat productive while Thorin healed. “I’ll get on to it tomorrow, I promise. For now, though, I just want to stay here, rest for a little while.” And two short arms came around his torso, Bilbo’s head gently coming to lay down on the left side of his stomach as the Hobbit settled himself down comfortably. He hadn’t even realized how tired he actually was until his eyelids dropped, seemingly weighing a lot more than the younger had initially thought them to, but Bilbo didn’t fight it, he was too tired, and his long day’s work ought to definitely be rewarded with some sleep.

And if his quiet mumble of _“My little Arkenstone”_ as he gripped Thorin’s tunic a little tighter made the dwarf king beneath him flinch slightly, he was already much too close to sleep to actually notice it…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was initially supposed to post this on Saturday, but as I got a little busy celebrating my twentieth birthday and falling off horses (because riding without a saddle is like, guaranteeing yourself a fall, especially if you’re spending most of your time having to gallop :p) and I guess I sort of put this off for a little after –my apologies.
> 
> I also apologize if the Bagginshield sounds extremely crappy. I’ve never really written these two together, so I don’t really know how to really do it yet, especially the dialogue part. ^^


	4. A Small Step To Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin takes a tentative first few steps and realizes that the road to recovery might take longer than he'd initially thought. Good thing Bilbo is there (or is it?)

Oin’s orders confining him to his bed, while he’d accepted then at the start knowing he had to allow his body time to heal and mend itself, had become incredibly hard to abide to by now. How many weeks he’d wasted laying here, Thorin wasn’t really sure anymore as Bilbo had told him it would be best if he gave up on counting them (it would apparently only push his recovery back longer, so he said), and the Hobbit had become his daily dose of good company, a small opening to whatever was going on outside the bedroom door and almost the only person with whom he did not have to endure the long-suffering titles and addressed of “my liege” or “my lord”. 

The Company (may Mahal bless them), had also managed to drop in sporadically, Ori often giving him short updates on the restoration of the Grand Library and more in-depth ones when it came to the work he was personally seeing to –the recording of their feat, from their gathering in the Blue Mountains right up to the rebuilding of Erebor, all of which he was ensuring was as faithful to the events as possible, bad deeds and all included, and Dwalin letting him in on the arriving dwarven settlements and the repairs that were being undergone to the Grand Hall and other places Smaug had let fall into decay while he had claimed the Mountain for himself. 

It had done his heart good to see they all seemed to have managed their individual recoveries and had set to making the Mountain a hospitable place once again without his supervision, even if he had to admit that he had sorely missed Kili and Fili’s presence during those three weeks. Of course Thorin had asked Bilbo how they fared on numerous occasions, and to his chagrin, the same answer had always been what the Hobbit would give him –that Kili had yet to send a letter (but surely would as soon as he got the chance) and that Fili, while no longer in a critical condition, had yet to show any sign of improvement in his recovery. All those facts combined had probably been what had pushed him to try and restore his health as quickly as possible, and while he may not yet have regained the strength he once had, Thorin was immensely grateful when at long last his bed was something he could leave behind for a few hours. 

“Do you think you’d be up for one of Dain’s councils?” Bilbo asked, as he set the tray he’d gotten from Bombur down on the bed, the bed dipping slightly as he half-sat on the edge, picking up one of the golden pieces of toasts and nibbling the edges slightly, humming in approval when the salty butter hit his mouth. There truly was nothing better to start off a busy day with, it would seem. “I will warn you though, he makes a mountain out of nothing whenever he can.” He added light-heartedly, the half-eaten slice of bread bouncing up and down as he waved his hand around dramatically, Thorin had to understand that Bilbo had never encountered such a stubborn specimen, and as a matter of fact, the Hobbit could almost safely state that the new King under the Mountain was a pale comparison when it came to his cousin, which was saying something. 

Not wanting to seem overly eager when all he wished for was a meager chance to _finally_ get escape the bedroom, Thorin nodded at first, and while Dis had always been one to remind him and Frerin the importance of good manners, he thought he could let her long-suffering lessons go out the window if it was insurance that he’d be up walking sooner, and, around a mouthful of bread, he tried to word his enthusiasm as eloquently as possible (which was to say, it wasn’t really, but it made Bilbo smile, and Thorin thought he could be content with that). “If it means I can get out of here, I’d be ready to do anything Bilbo!” 

“Great! I think I’d be glad for the company.” The Hobbit grinned, gave his hair a slight ruffle as he stood back up (and maybe Thorin appreciated the lingering contact, but he wouldn’t say it out loud), before heading towards the door, half-way into the corridor already when he turned back. “I’ll wait for you here? Give you time to, well, you know…” And awkwardly gestured to whatever clothes lay at the end of the bed, knowing full well that Thorin could not afford to present himself in front of his esteemed cousin in whatever it was Oin had found for him for the past three weeks, and he guessed he would rather prefer to get dressed by himself, now that he was able for it. “Just don’t think of leaving without me.” He added with a wink before closing the door quietly, leaving him once again by himself. 

Slipping on a tunic was something mundane, something he’d gotten used to over the past one hundred and ninety-five years of his life, and Thorin hadn’t realized how badly he’d missed the small ounce of satisfaction he got when he eventually closed the last button, now knowing he’d managed to get back that meager mobility. It wasn’t so much the act in itself, for it could probably have been securing a sword over his back or buckling the strap of Pepper’s saddle and Thorin would have found the same amount of gratification out of it, it was the simple fact that he could now _do_ something by himself that made all the difference. 

Hastily throwing on whatever else Bilbo had given him, he slowly eased himself upwards until he was sure he wouldn’t just topple back down again, and after a moment of hesitation but once again settling on the fact that he didn’t think he’d be able to bear another hour lying down, Thorin slowly eased himself up, clinging to the wall so as to make sure he wouldn’t fall. It was strange at first, regaining a perspective he’d barely lost for three weeks, and yet the sight of everything from his bed had become so normal that it was a little disorientating for a few moments. But eventually, as Balin would say, the world always found a way to right itself, and even if it as just soaring him a short moment of nausea, when his eyes stopped seeing a tilted chair about to topple over or a crocked window, Thorin judged it was probably safe enough to dare take a step forward. 

Reaching the door a little unsteadily and not even realizing grasping the handle was probably his only link to stability, Thorin allowed himself a few moments to catch his breath and feel a small amount of satisfaction that he’d been able to take a few (maybe wobbly, but nobody was there to see him so why did it matter?) stable steps forward, a definite indicator that Oin would no longer be able to restrict him to bed on a whim anymore. 

However when he opened the door and peered down the hallway, he was surprised to find that it was empty. Bilbo was nowhere in sight. 

Immediately chastising himself for the small pang of loss he felt at realizing Bilbo had not waited for him and instead, feeling slightly guilty at the fact that he must be delaying him, Thorin, fueled only by worry he might be delaying the Hobbit –for he had yet to learn that while he was on the road to recovery, his body still had it’s limits-, hurried down the maze of corridors making up the royal palace as quickly as his body would allow him to (and while he would not admit it, he might have taken a wrong turn once or twice –maybe Gloin could see to finding him a map of some sort, or at least do something so as to make Erebor a place he was less likely to get lost in) and by the time he’d reached what he assumed was the being used as a council chamber judging by the tapestries and rune remains that adorned the door he was quite relieved he’d have a moment to catch his breath. 

Peering inside rather quickly, he was relieved to find that only Bilbo seemed to have arrived for now, their other guests probably still breaking their fast in the Great Hall, and the small privacy he was being granted did not go unnoticed by him, he rather appreciated it, whether the Hobbit had been the one behind the empty chamber or not. Thorin would be the first one to admit that he wasn’t one to express his happiness often, but this time, the smile came to his face unbidden, and it stayed there until he plumped down into the seat next to Bilbo, the younger already offering him a half-filled plate. 

Giving him a quick “thank you” (because Bilbo didn’t have to do this for him, but he had, and Throin was grateful for it and not about to let his appreciation go unnoticed), he pulled the steel dish over to himself, already eager to finally get a bite into some real food after three weeks of nothing much only to stop abruptly when he looked down. _What in Mahal’s name was… Whatever that was?_

Well, there was more on this little plate than what had made up his whole meals over the past several months during their quest, but the question wasn’t really about the quantity, it was more along the line of “What exactly is this?”

He hadn’t realized he’d asked his the question out loud until he noticed Bilbo’s sharp glance towards him, and the unspoken hurt he could read in the young featured made Thorin internally wince. He knew he could sometimes (rather _often_ ) be too callous when he spoke, but he had not meant this to hurt Bilbo, it really was coming from him being genuinely curious. 

“You don’t like it?” 

_Good job Thorin, you’re definitely not helping things right now._ For the first time, the newly appointed King under the Mountain wished that he were slightly better versed in the art of engaging in conversations, namely being able to be less callous with his words and think what he was about to say –consequences included- _before_ actually saying them out aloud. It would certainly avoid him offending a lot of people he had no qualms with. 

“No! No… I just… I’ve never really seen anything like this?” 

“Oh! Well we’ll have to remedy to that, won’t we?” The initial disappointment that had colored the Hobbit’s previous words seemed to have all but vanished, and the flood of relief Thorin felt as Bilbo seemed to forget his gloom and wide grin spread on his face as he delved into a tale of how, for every new year, Hobbits would gather around a dish of fine rabbit and spiced mushrooms, adding that maybe they could try it themselves when the occasion came around, arguing that a rich meal of such would probably do him no good at the moment, which was why he’d settled for the lemon seed cakes instead. It wasn’t exactly what he was used to, but Thorin could gather Bilbo had put a lot of effort into piecing the dish together if the multiple cakes set aside the broth and whatever was in the mug at the left were to go by, and it really wasn’t his place to judge or refuse it. 

Besides, he found that he quite enjoyed the cakes, letting Bilbo know if he could give Bombur the makings, he’d definitely be asking the cook for more (though only if Bombur wished to cook them, that was, he wasn’t going to force him for it would be unwise to abuse of his powers as king when the shame and guilt of the terrible things he’d both said and done towards those he’d come to see as closest friends still clung to him. And the only way Thorin could ever be rid of the guilt was if the Company wished to redeem him, it was up to _them_ and not him to make that decision, thus he could not –and nor would he, for that matter- force his presence upon them).

Trying to hide his discomfort to the Hobbit, he eventually managed to swallow the cake and prayed to Mahal that he would not have to go through the ordeal of concealing how much he disliked it once again. However, Fortune had never really been on his side (if his life of loss and hardships was any indication) and as soon as the Hobbit glanced at his empty hands and the trace of crumb littering the tray, he immediately picked a second one up and handed it over to him with a slight admonishment. 

“You should have said you’d finished! I would have given you another one of these right away! Don’t think I’d let you starve, would you?” And he gave a nervous chuckle at that, gesturing to his less-than-healthy looking body. “If you’re hoping to get up and about, you really need to put a little more weight onto those bones.”

 _Bones?_

Granted, Thorin hadn’t had the luxury of being able to catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror yet (and there was none in the throne room, so he could not confirm whether Bilbo was entirely true or not on the spot), but looking down to where the Hobbit had pointed, he could see the bones of his left wrist bulging out, which was definitely not how he remembered his body looking last time he’d checked. And the sight of it had a lump of dread dropping deep down in his stomach at the mere thought of what else his shirt must be concealing to both him and the world. 

How was he ever going to embody the proper image of a king if his appearance was closer to that of their woodland allies (Thorin was still rather hesitant to call them friends as of yet, and would not do so until the whole fallout of this sordid battle would be dealt with) than his dwarven counterparts? Dain was sure to make it a laughing matter to alleviate the problem, for such was the nature of his cousin, but the other nobles? What would they say once they too reached the Mountain? What if they were to decide upon their arrival that he was not fit to rule their kin after all, heir to Durin’s line of not? 

Anxiously now, he cast a flickering glance towards the door, and the initial relief he’d experienced at the fact that he was now able to get up and around again crumbled to dust as Thorin began picturing the wide stares and raised eyebrows he would undoubtedly provoke when he would make his first official appearance in front of the vast populace of dwarves that had eventually made it to the Mountain after word had been sent out that it was now a safe place for them to come to. 

He could still remember, when he and Frerin had been naught but young dwarves in their prime (before duty and responsibility had ruled his life and the slaughter of Azanulbizar had opened his eyes to the heartlessness of it all), when the Crown and duties that came along with it, while something he was made aware of daily, still seemed to be naught but a strange ad faraway concept, something he could not yet grasp the true weight of, and now that the duty was to be thrust upon his shoulders as soon as he set foot in front of the gathering of dwarves. It was as if the huge reality of his burden had just come crashing down on him once again, and all of a sudden, Thorin wasn’t too sure if he actually could lead all of those dwarves at all anymore. 

“Don’t go fretting now, Thorin.” Bilbo said lightly, putting a welcomed supportive hand on his shoulder, “With a little patience and time, everything will be fine again. One you’re up and healthy again, I’ll be giving you back your place in the Council and everything will be as it should, just… Well just don’t rush things, we’ve got all the time we need.” 

Of course, he thought, of course Bilbo was right. There was no crisis to deal with anymore: Azog was dead, the last of the orcs had been dealt with and from what he could gather, the Hobbit was doing a fine job at ruling in his stead with Balin and the Company’s help, and Throin felt guilty at the fact that he’d once again doubted his comrades’ ability to deal with the fallout of the battle and the reconstruction of Erebor without him. 

Maybe, for once, he just needed to calm down a little and stop trying to micromanage everything –a damn lot of good that had done him in the past. If anything, his past mistakes had taught him that maybe letting go of his responsibilities a little and letting others who could deal with them manage in his absence wasn’t a bad thing, and perhaps now was the time to actively change. If not for himself, for Bilbo at least, the Hobbit deserved it after everything he’d done to help him. 

“Well, now that that’s settled, maybe you should try walking again? After all, you can’t stay cooped up in bed to live out the rest of your days, and I think I’d actually like a little company in the Council room.” 

“Are you sure? Oin said-“

“Oh let’s forget the orders just this once! _I,_ for one, would like to have you with me in there, it can get quite lonesome sometimes, I have to admit. Isn’t that enough motivation for you to want to come too?” 

Whatever he’d planned on replying, it never made it past his lips as Thorin felt his throat clog up as a wave of guilt washed over him at the thought that he had been turning down one of Bilbo’s ideas, something _he_ wanted to do. Surely, after all this time, the Hobbit had not waited patiently for him to wake up only to be cooped up in his bedroom with him after his return to consciousness, and Thorin owed him at least that for staying with him all this time.

“Well, I guess that if you want to, there can’t be too much harm in trying.” He eventually conceded, pushing the (suddenly very comfy) chair back and accepting Bilbo’s outstretched hand as a help to get himself up. The feeling of being upright once again after having been confined to a lying or sitting position for so long felt slightly foreign at first, and Thorin had to admit that he was glad for the anchor the Hobbit’s arm provided him (for he probably would have lost his balance and ended up yet again on the bed if it weren’t for him). The first few steps were slightly wobbly, but when Bilbo saw he could approximately manage to take a few steps without the looming threat of falling face first to the ground, he let him go, judging that Thorin would probably be able to find his footing by himself and join him at the other end of the room (it was only a short distance to the door, surely he could do that at least), but instead of waiting for him outside like he had initially settled to do, he eventually opted to stay in the room, ready to lend a hand if ever the need arose. After all, Oin had barely finished his job, it was rather needless to waste the surgeon’s time healing a re-opened wound caused by eagerness. 

Of course, eagerness itself and will could only do so much, and he’d barely gotten to his feet when Bilbo came rushing back and the Hafling’s shoulder became the only thing supporting him and preventing his body from falling to the floor in a heap. Panting and clutching the other’s shoulder probably a little harder than he should, it was then that it truly hit him just how real his situation was and how true Oin’s skepticism at letting him walk right away came from. Thorin couldn’t feel much of his body, the small step he took feeling feather-light to that of what he remembered from the last time he’d taken one, and the poking-out bone on the wrist with which he was desperate hanging on to the Hobbit’s shirt was all he needed to know for the morbid picture of what exactly his shirt must be concealing to form in his mind’s eye. He wanted to deny it, to believe that this was all some hallucination his mind was conjuring up and that when he truly woke up, everything would be fine, but Thorin knew better than to take refuge in alluring-looking lies and false truths pretending to make everything easier –whatever time out cold (two? Three weeks? Was that what Bilbo had said?) had obviously severely weakened him, and with the adrenaline rush he’d felt earlier at the thought of making Bilbo wait now long gone, there wasn’t anything keeping him upright other than Mister Baggins’ shoulder. 

“Come on Thorin.” Bilbo managed to grind out (a remarkable Hobbit he might be, but by no means had this little adventure of his enabled him to suddenly bear the brunt weight of a rather heavy dwarf) as they made it to the door, stopping for a moment so the two could catch their breath before attempting the long corridor. “You can’t tell me three weeks being bedridden have made your body tired, you’ve had all the time in the world to catch up on missed sleep!” Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to do, to make a joke out of their situation, but he’d rather that than have Oin come in and give the two of them a morose diagnosis (and probably some form of reprimand too), and besides, if Thorin had made it out of the bed and all the way into another room, he could surely take at least a few steps forward, Bilbo had yet to meet a dwarf more stubborn than the King (even if he had to admit that Dain could sometimes come quite close to his cousin). 

Instead of taking offense, Thorin chose to see it as an encouragement, that Bilbo turning his glum state into a laughing matter was supposed to help. It might not have been what he would have said had their positions been reversed, but maybe it was the Hobbit’s way of showing he cared and _why_ exactly he should be trying a little harder to regain his mobility, because, if anything, remaining confined in his bed was definitely going to have him miss out on time with Mister Baggins, something Thorin was set on ensuring wouldn’t happen, the small breakfast the two had just indulged in _in a proper setting_ was definitely motivation enough. Besides, didn’t he still need to make up for how badly he had treated him before deciding going out to battle would be a good idea anyway? And if this made Bilbo happy, well he thought he might as well go with it, especially given the fact that with his support, they had already made it out of the council chamber and Bilbo’s incessant chatter on how he wished he’d have brought his very own collection of books from Bag End with him and how he missed his pantry was a welcome distraction of the dull ache in his side. Trying to engage with him even though he knew very little of the customs of the Shire (to which Bilbo quipped that _it just wouldn’t do_ and he would take it upon himself to personally verse him in the ways of his home), Thorin welcomed the distraction, giving a rather un-kingly snort at the mention of a certain Lobelia Sackville and how she had a nasty habit of trying to make away with Bilbo’s pumpkins when she thought he couldn’t see her. 

“Twice in a day, I tell you! It’s a good thing I have sharp ears, or she very well would have taken them! My prized pumpkins!” And maybe Bilbo’s delivery of the whole ordeal was slightly over-dramatic, but the light-heartedness of it all, and the fact that Thorin found himself indulging in the slight respite of worries and crown duties was more than welcome, and when Bilbo confided that he would eventually manage to tell him all about the nasty episodes the poor soul had been through with his unsavory neighbor, he couldn’t help but laugh and appreciate the fact that Mister Baggins was willing to share his private history with him. Divulging such personal memories was not exactly common among the dwarven folk, and the Hobbit’s eagerness to share what there was to know about him so quickly was a testament to his trust in him. A trust Thorin knew he still had to earn and respect, for while Bilbo’s carefree persona and exuberant face were (at least he hoped) a testimony of his enjoyment of being here in Erebor with him, deep down he knew he did not deserve such a forgiving partner to live out his days with, and that the actions he had taken while entrapped deep within the claws of what Balin referred to as “Dragon Sickness” still needed to be answered for and mended if that bridge of faith between him and the Hobbit were to ever be rebuilt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really apologize for leaving you hanging for so long. I've been both anxiously waiting for my Year 2 exam results and desperately looking for a summer job here in Brittany (which is literally impossible to find unless you've got farming/industry qualifications, which I don't :p) I haven't had much free time or motivation.  
> Hopefully now that I actually have something in addition to working at this edition's Festival Interceltique, updates might be a little more frequent :)  
> Also: having never actually seen anyone fall into a comatose state, I can only base my writing on research. I have found that you can lose weight while in a coma (how much, I'm not sure though), so I hope I haven't gone and written something totally false. If it's the case, I apologize, the fault is all mine! :)


End file.
